


Through-and-Through

by Bearslayer



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Death, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nygmobblepot, Oswald/Ed, Unbeta'd, Violence, killers with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:54:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8426086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bearslayer/pseuds/Bearslayer
Summary: A quiet night in is interrupted.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt received on my tumblr, mindlessgothamite.tumblr.com that read;  
> "can you please please write something with Oswald getting hurt and nygma realizing his feelings for him and then going psycho on the person who hurt him?"

Horror etched itself into Oswald’s features like a slow moving flip-book as Edward tried in vain to run to him, crying out his name as fear gripped his heart. He did not know the context of the scene, only that it had been a quiet night in the mansion up to that point. The newly appointed Chief-Of-Staff had only stepped out for a few moments to change into clothing appropriate for the night time, and by his return, firelight had thrown a large, familiar shadow against the wall.

 

Butch.

 

He had come to strike Oswald down while he was most vulnerable, at a time most opportune. Like a coward he had crept into the Mayor’s home and waited until he was alone, short time though it was.

 

And though it happened in a heartbeat, the sound of the bullet ripping through the air caused time to slow to the pace of molasses for Edward.

 

The sound of a bullet too far away to be intercepted.

 

The sound of a bullet barreling directly towards the heart of the one man he had ever truly admired.

 

As the deadly cylinder made its home in the chest of Oswald, his Oswald, something snapped inside of Ed. Every murderous twinge, every spastic urge to hurt, and every bit of the torrent of emotion that was usually held at bay in Oswald’s presence released itself at once. Rage coursed through him as white-hot as molten tungsten, and the noise that escaped him came from a place deep inside his throat, a glutteral bellow.

 

His teeth were bared as he launched himself at the one handed man, vision tunneling as instinct took over. The man who had taken Oswald away from him fell under his concentrated weight, hitting the floor hard beneath Edward, who pinned him down as effectively as he could manage. Memories boiled under the surface, escaping from the corners of his eyes as angry tears. Edward wrested the gun from Butch’s hand before the big man was even able to react to falling.

 

But Edward did not turn the barrel towards Butch. That was too good for the cretin who had taken away the only anchor Edward had left. Oswald laid in a lifeless heap somewhere in that room, tiny body lifeless and cold on the floor. Butch would not be so lucky as to escape life without suffering. With one smooth motion, Edward brought the grip of the handgun down on to his face.

 

For each fond memory Butch had mutated into something sour and acrid, another strike. For each year Ed would have to spend without the other man at his side, another strike. Edward felt the man’s hands struggling to get him off as his face, prosthetic and real hand digging bruises deep into his ribs and waist, but no physical pain could measure up to the wound that had formed in his heart. Edward could not see through the tears that filtered in neat lines down his cheeks, he could not hear the grotesque squelching of metal striking mangled flesh through the ringing in his ears.

 

Oswald had been struggling to tell him something in days past, something important. He could see those crystalline pools gazing up at him in quiet adoration in his mind’s eye. Eyes that he would never look upon again. Had it been love? Edward’s stomach lurched, and the gun faltered in the air mid-swing. Oswald had loved him, and Ed had been too foolish, too bullheaded to help guide him to that conclusion. He knew that the small man had always worn his heart on his sleeve while also being terrified of emotional bonds.

 

He had been too stupid to know that he, himself, had felt the same.

 

Butch’s hands fell limp from Edward’s side as the tall man shifted back. Pressing the barrel into the brutish man’s chest, Edward emptied remainder of the clip into him. Bullets tore holes into his chest, close enough that multiple wounds melted into one. When there were no bullets left, Edward sneered, pushing the barrel into his chest as far as it could go as the expression slowly melted from his face.

 

Everything became dull. The tears had ended, the ringing in his ears dissipating as he stood up on shaking legs. His hands vibrated from the force of the gunshots, body heavy as he moved towards that of Oswald’s.

 

“Ozzie… Ozzie…” Edward mumbled, dropping to his knees at the Mayor’s side.

 

“Ed…” He heard a small, gentle voice. A memory, nothing more.

 

“I’m so sorry Oswald. I’m so sorry. I never told you.” Edward’s throat swelled, stomach churning with bile. Tears filled his eyes once more as he brought a hand to the pallid face of the man he now understood more then ever.  
“Eddie… Please.” A whisper, the ghost of a voice he had grown to cherish.

 

“I never told you because I didn’t know. I didn’t know I loved you Ozzie. I’m so sorry.” Edward rambled miserably.

 

“Ed!” It was sharper now, enough to jolt him out of his rampant self-pitying.

 

“… Ozzie?” Edward lifted his head.

 

“Eddie… Please help me.” Oswald stared at him, gasping for breath.

 

Edward’s eyes were thrown wide in shock. The voice wasn’t in his head. Oswald was alive! Struggling, but alive! Edward laughed, staring at his face in sudden, unabashed joy, cupping his cheek. It was cool to the touch, but the muscles were taut with pain.

 

“Ozzie, you’re alive!” He cried out, leaning down to kiss his lips. Oswald’s eyes went wide.

 

“Eddie… I… I’m so happy you feel the way you do. I’ve… I’ve loved you for a long while now. But right now, I need you to help me. My shoulder… The same one as before.” Oswald whispered to him, eyes filling with tears as well.

 

The same shoulder that had nearly been the cause of his death months before was once again struck, bleeding heavily on the floor. Edward immediately leapt into action. The emotions that had dominated his mind for that brief period were shut out, logical brain kicking into action once more. This time the wound was a clear through-and-through, closer to the collarbone then to the shoulder itself, meaning the collarbone was likely shattered… As his emotional mind closed off, all that was left was a simple realization.

 

Oswald loved him, and for the first time, Edward knew that he felt the same.


End file.
